


The Firm

by TheEvangelion



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bottom Clarke, Bottom Lexa, Dapper Lexa, Dom Clarke, Dom Lexa, Dom/sub, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fine Stud Lexa, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Office Sex, Power Bottom Clarke, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, Switch Clarke, Switch Lexa, Top Clarke, Top Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9439454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/pseuds/TheEvangelion
Summary: Lexa Woods is young, dapper, successful and painfully in control. Owner and CEO of the biggest lifestyle magazine in the world, she has enough on her plate to make anyone uptight. But with the help of the new head of accounting, Clarke Griffin, Lexa quickly finds new and inventive ways to relieve some of her... tensions.There's just one small problem, both of them are married.[CW: Lexa bottoms in this story, I will mark each chapter with an indicator of who is in control so you can decide if you want to read it or not.]





	1. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Clarke In Charge.]

The meeting drones on and you try your absolute hardest to look remotely interested in the yearly fiscal report. The New York landscape hums outside and you glance out the window often, pen drumming the table, lips in your teeth.

"Are we keeping you awake?" the head of accounting stares at you across the table.

"Yes." you clear your throat and send her an apologetic glance, "Please, continue."

She holds her stare for a moment, annoyed beneath the glossy exterior of her polite smile. Quickly the meeting whirs away again with everyone jotting numbers down pretending to give a damn whilst she flips through her presentation.

"...so as you can see we're up seven points from where we were last quarter and with the market inflation drawing in from our European territories-"

"Pause." you lift your hand, boredly flicking through the twenty slides left in the hand out. "Clarke, grateful as I am for your thoroughness, can you sum this up in fifty words or less so we can all go back to whatever the hell it is we'd rather be doing."

"Excuse me?" she snorts, glaring at you with a hand on her hip.

Everyone treats your brashness with a thin manicure of respect, everyone except Clarke. On your best days you know it's why you hired her in the first place and on your worst it tempts you to send her packing. Today is a good day, you gloatingly smirk at her little outburst and temper the corners of your mouth inside the rim of your teeth.

"My wife is an impatient woman, Clarke, and she won't be pleased with me if I'm home a minute later than six, which means I won't get to be pleased tonight either… if you catch my drift." you grin and earn stifled chuckles from the staff flanking the boardroom table.

"Your wife is no concern of mine." Clarke shrugged, turning back to her powerpoint.

"Be that as it may… last time I checked I still own this company and bankroll everyone's salary, so, I'm going to need you to hurry this up."

Clarke snapped around, eyes alight, beautiful and quietly furious at the way you exert your tiny powerplays. "Fine…" she dropped the marker pen on the table and crossed her arms. "Money good. Debt bad. Lexa stupid. Clarke not paid enough. Market good. Company accounts good. Lexa stupid, did I already mention that?"

You thoughtfully jot down her points and push the bridge of your glasses up your nose, "Yep," you glance up and double check your list of points. "I noted that."

"Good." she exhaled and glanced at the staff who lined the table between you both. "You can all leave."

You're certain all twelve of the head of departments exhale at the same time in relief, packing away their Macbooks and papers, scurrying out the door. You stand up and join them, trying desperately to get out the room before she tests your patience again.

"Not you." Clarke says into the air, closing down her laptop.

You release a sigh and roll your eyes. 

"What can I do for you, Miss Griffin?"

"Close the door." you oblige her.

You catch a glimpse of black stocking as she bends to unplug her charger. It slips her thigh beneath the material of her grey pencil skirt and you resist the urge to arch your neck and appraise her further. You shouldn't look, you know you shouldn't, but her thighs are delicious and watching her pound around the office in pencil skirts and Louboutin heels certainly helps put up with her temper.

"Don't ever embarrass me in front of my staff again."

"You mean my staff?" you clear your throat, sorely missing the sight of her stockings as she snaps up from behind the table and stares you out.

"No, I don't mean you staff." she almost hisses, nose flaring, teeth set into her expression. "Who keeps track of those idiots so they hit their targets?" she asks and steps forward.

"You do."

"That's right. And whose team manages the advertisers and makes sure they pay up on the first of every month?" she takes another step closer.

"Er, yours?"

"Correct." she nods, "And who, Mrs Woods, is the boss of you when your wife isn't around?" she closes the distance and presses her thigh between your legs.

Gasping, blushing, neck craning over your shoulder to check no one can see your indiscretions, you swallow and bite your mouth. "You are." you admit quietly, neck rolling as she digs her thighs further into the crotch of your trousers.

"You're a bad girl, do you know that?" she mutters and scolds you.

"I think we both know you're kind of into that."

"Get on your knees." she demands, and you do as you're told.

The heat creeps up the back of your neck the way it always does when these little games are afoot. What if you're caught? What if someone says something? You arch your neck to check if the doors locked but her fingers quickly catch your chin.

"Nope." she warns you. "Eyes on me."

You exhale, "We shouldn't do this… I'm married." you swell in the acknowledgement of it.

"Does your wife take control of you like this?" she tilts her head, wrapping her fingers into the back of your long dark hair.

"No."

"I see," she says thoughtfully, "and so you have to wear the pants _all_ of the time?"

"Yes."

"That must be so boring for you." Clarke pouts and kicks your knees open. "Do you love her?"

"She's the queen of my universe."

Clarke smiles at that, breaks character for a moment, lips turning up into sloping grin that she reclaims quickly with a thin veneer of leering dominance. "Do you love me?"

"I do." you admit and dance fingers up her knees. She swats them away. "Put your hands behind your back." you do as you're told.

Clarke inches closer, tightening the grip on the back of your hair and pulling your forward into her thighs. "Put your hands up my skirt and tell me what's missing, Lexa."

You shouldn't do this and yet you can't stop yourself. Clarke is divine, dainty and petite and tailored in all the ways that set your arousal off, and assured in herself and bossy and dominant in all the ways that so wrongfully excite you.

With a lick of your dry lips, you slip your hands up her knees and glide over the thin material of her stockings, eventually you come to the middle of her thigh, the lace around each pair tickles your palm and your fingertips follow each suspender up to the satin belt holding them up. She gloatingly smirks whilst you explore beneath her pencil skirt, nose pressed into her center, hot breath reaching through the material.

Eventually your fingers traipse back down and you moved inwards around the inside of her thighs, feeling the soft bare skin slip over your fingers as smooth as oil. You bite the bullet, work up the confidence and simultaneously bury your guilt for enjoying these pleasures, slipping your hand against her vulva.

You gasp, close your eyes and feel yourself ruin your underwear.

"What am I not wearing, Lexa?"

"Panties." you choke.

"Are you going to kneel there or get to work?" she dares you, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow as your fingers run backwards and forwards, gathering her slick arousal.

You hike the skirt up and pull her into you, her stocking-covered thighs practically straddling the shoulders of your suit jacket as you set to work and run your tongue through her intoxicating sweetness. She gasps at how painfully gentle you are, fingers rolling themselves into the locks of your hair, groaning and whispering dirty little things about how naughty you are.

Her clit stiffens against your tongue, smirking and prideful in the knowledge of what she likes, you graze your teeth so gently across her sensitive bud and feel her pussy quiver and flex in response. She whimpers and it's sinful how aroused you are.

"I'm going to cum right in your mouth." she growls and bucks against your tongue.

You grin at that and suck her into your mouth like juice running from the bite of a peach, the hotness of your mouth enveloping her lips and flushed pinkness until the thighs that clamp your cheeks start to hurt your jaw.

Your bury yourself in her folds, licking and sucking every hot drop of nectar until you feel the quake erupt inside of her, the tremble of her gut, the clamp of her thighs, the snap of her hips, the sinful moan of her climax, the sting as she takes a handful of hair and wrenches your head back so she can fill your mouth with her slickness like she promised.

"Good girl." she cooes and recovers, smoothing your hair out of your face. "Don't ever try me in a fiscal meeting again." she warns you and cups your cheeks, leaning down to kiss your slick-coated mouth.

"God you're beautiful." you groan and lean to kiss her again.

She pulls away from you, tidying away the remnants of her dishevelled appearance until once again her blouse is tucked in and her skirt is just above the knee and the tiny glimpse of her stockings is all you're allowed. "Sorry." she shrugs and moves back around the table for the snakeskin briefcase you bought her a few months ago, "I have to get home, my wife's getting back early tonight."

"You're married?" you raise a brow.

"I am." Clarke sighs and grins.

"To who?"

"The most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life." she reassures you with an answer that's not entirely an answer. "And yes, before you ask, I love her more than life itself… so don't even go there."

"Okay." you smile and nod.

As quickly as the game began, it comes to an end the moment Clarke rushes out the office for the five o'clock subway ride to her place in Greenwich Village. Occasionally you left work early enough to bump into her on the subway home, sometimes you spoke and sometimes you just sat beside one another in a strangely comfortable silence as the carriage jolted along the tracks. Tonight wouldn't be one of those nights though, there was still editorial to sign off on before you'll allow yourself to go home for the night.

It takes you forty minutes to blast through it all, nectar still lingering in your mouth, the ghost memory of her hot slickness riding your tongue, you try not to think about it but it replays over and over again as you sign each cover. The way she rode your mouth, the way she took your hair, the confidence in her eyes, the assured coolness of her demeanor. 

You're always in control of everything, your wife was the one to point that out, along with other facts like you're uptight and anal and staunch and always… worrying too much. It was what you did best. But with Clarke around in the office, divine and assured as she was, there was no worrying because she was the one who called the shots and god, she never let you forget about it.

You had the towncar take you to your apartment fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Nervous and guilty as you were, you spent the whole ride fiddling with your appearance, touching and balancing each button on your shirt and desperately checking for any lipstick stains on your clothes. The journey was shorter than what you'd like, you hoped the mundane traffic and life blaring from the busy sidewalks would distract you enough to dissipate your lingering arousal thought it barely soothed you in the slightest, still drunk on the encounter.

Your wife is already busy with dinner when you slip inside.

"Hi honey," she grins and slips over the marble, work outfit replaced with comfortable sweats. "how was your day?" she purred and jumped into your arms.

"Good." you smile and deepen the kiss, hands slipping beneath her hips to hold her up. She tastes the same, smells the same too, but she's softer now. "God, you're so beautiful." you furrow and almost complain, appraising her adoringly as her tight thighs wrap the waist of your suit jacket. "How was your day, Baby?"

"Could have been better." she sighed, nuzzling her nose into your neck. "My jackass boss interrupted my fiscal presentation again."

"Did you put her back in her place?" you whisper knowingly with a smirk.

Clarke jumped down from your hips and smoothed her fingers over your buttons, grinning and loving every inch of you. "Yeah… you could say that."

 


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Clarke In Charge.]

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

Your eyes snapped up from the screen on the desk. Clarke was there, eyes alight, mouth flexing into a furious shape as she slammed the door behind herself.  You try to speak but it's useless, there's barely time to dodge the file skimmed at you from across the length of office.

"Clarke, listen-"

"No!" Clarke seethed and strode forward. "You listen. Who the hell do you think you are going over _my_ head making cuts to _my_ department's salary budget!?"

You should have expected this, you meant to say something before the finalised budgets were released but the September issue took precedence first and somehow it all got away from beneath you.

"I'm not letting Arlene go. She's my right-hand."

"Arlene is seventy-nine! It's time to let her go and be God's right hand!" you groan and set your glasses down. "I love Arlene too, I do, she's been here since my father started this place but we agreed in July to cutback on salary spending. That was _your_ idea." you remind her and cling to your thin veneer of control.

"Who is the Head of Accounts and Finance?"

"Clarke." you warn with a raised brow.

"I said," she bit and stepped closer, "Who is the Head of Accounts and Finance?"

"You are."

"That's right, I am. Of course it was my _damn_ idea to freeze salary spending whilst we're under audit! But I never told you to start cutting my fucking limbs off!"

"Arlene isn't your left leg." you roll your eyes and stand from your seat.

Clarke hesitates for a moment, eyeing your figure. You're wearing one of your wife's dresses. You did that occasionally when your trousers and blouses were being tailored, dresses and skirts and heels were strictly reserved for non-business related business, but every now and then you made an exception to the rule.

"What?" you play dumb, blinking at her.

"Nothing!" she snaps defensively and looks away. "It's just… is that my Stella McCartney?" she mumbled quietly after a pause, briefly eyeballing the black dress clinging to your figure again.

"It's my wife's."

"She has good taste."

"Impeccable according to our joint bank statement."

Clarke rolled her eyes at that and set her hands on her hips, not willing to let you pull her into these games. You love her like this. Some friends of yours who worked at her old firm told you she was a stone cold bitch in the office but you couldn't imagine it. No, definitely not your wife, the same woman who cut the crusts off your sandwiches and spent her weekends knitting instructionals she found on Pinterest? The thought of it made you laugh.

But to see her likes this, striding around striking fear into any and all who cross her, putting employees and shareholders in their place like no one's business, bucking horns with you over anything that rubs her the wrong way… you know you couldn't do your job without her now. It wouldn't be half as exciting.

"Arlene is staying." she tells you blankly, stepping over to the glass wall that overlooked Manhattan.

"It was your idea. You said we needed to freeze and cut back on salary spending over the next quarter, I was just following your advice. You still have a salary budget to play with, fire somebody else if you want to keep Arlene."

"I have forty girls in my department, all hand picked, all vetted by me, all barely scraping by depending on their bonuses, and the only way I can give it to them is if I fire Arlene and I'm not doing that. So change it." Clarke demanded, twisting on her heels to face you with her brows rising into arches.

"Live by the sword, die by the sword." you shrug, sitting back down. "Now if you'll excuse me I have things to do."

"Like hell you do."

"Clarke, get out and do some work."

You count down to the outburst on the slights of her body. You start on five at the twitch of her lip, four at the clench of her hands, three on the flare of her nostrils, two for her icy stare, one for the explosion that erupts from her like a nuclear test.

"Get up." she hisses, hustling to lock the door and shut the blinds to your office. "Now!" Clarke snaps.

She's angry. Normally when you play these little games at work, she's frustrated or just in the mood to tease you, but this is different. This is pure white anger and you wonder if you've pushed her too far this time.

"Clarke…"

"If I have to drag you out of that chair I will."

You do as you're told and stand up. Today is different. Normally, in your suit and blazer, there's a certain power you feel like you own. But gone is your armour, instead you stand there nervously in the black dress your wife wears so much better than you, balancing on the court Louboutins she's yet to see you stole from her wardrobe too.

"You think you can just go around meddling in my department?" Clarke raises her brow and starts the slow walk towards you, and you die with each step.

"My last name is above the door."

"It's my name too!" she hisses, and you exhale at the sight of her next step.

She goes by Griffin at work, sometimes there's a Mrs attached beforehand but most of the time it's just plain old Miss. Sometimes you wonder if she's told anyone who she is, who you are to her, but you know she hasn't.

It was one of only a handful of conditions when she took the job in the first place; the marriage was paused as soon as you both stepped over the threshold of the office and the relationship was strictly professional, or at least as professional as either of you could be. At home you never spoke of work with each other, that was another rule too. Out of work,  you were king, you were the boss who wore the trousers. But here? She was in control and regardless of job titles, you answered to her.

"Maybe we can talk this out?" you swallow and raise your brow, still clinging to a thin veneer of perseverance.

"You only ever want to talk when the cards are off the table." Clarke simmered, closing the proximity between you both and grabbing your wrist in her hand. She pulled you into her body, lipstick mouth dragging along your neck. "You want to be a pain in my ass Lexa? Fine. Then I'll be a pain in yours."

You wonder what she means but it quickly becomes redundant as the realisation settles over you. She pushes past your figure and sits in your executive chair, fingers nails drumming against the oak arm. "Lift up your dress and lean over my lap."

"I'm not doing that."

"Really?" Clarke raised her brow, daring you to defy her. You lick your lips and swallow. "Lexa, do I stay mad for very long?"

"No." you say truthfully.

"Do I ever leave the office angry?"

"No." you realise.

"That's right. I don't, because I don't want to take work-related stress home to my wife. I'd hate to break such a winning streak today and end up… I don't know… fighting with her because I had such a bad day with my boss." she eyes you knowingly.

You nod and exhale, tossing up the two possibilities in your head, either lean over her lap or take this argument home tonight.

"Well, what's it going to be?"

"Don't you dare break the skin." you concede and worry over the thought of her diamond encrusted fingers splitting you, sulking over towards her like a petulant child.

"Would I ever do that?" she smirks but beneath her gloating exterior you know she'd never hurt you.

You've spanked your wife before, in fact you've lost count how many times you've made her ass red and raised with the palm of your hand. It's always hot, always sexy and in the moment and usually followed by the kind of sex that embarrasses you in the morning when you have enough clarity to recall the dirty things you both like when you're turned on. But you've never tried this before, never allowed yourself to be bested at home.

"Come on." she hurries you and pats her knee, considerably less angry than she was before.

Dying, repulsed, ashamed and loving this, you sigh and fold over her lap, hands touching the floor and dress rising up the back of your thighs.

"Are you wearing your wife's shoes?" Clarke groans.

"Maybe."

"Don't you dare ruin them, they're new."

"How would you know?" you peer over your shoulder and catch a stern eye that makes you smirk.

"You look good over my lap... it suits you." Clarke murmurs to herself, warming the back of your legs with her bare hand, teasing and working you up to your punishment.

Her manicured nails drag along your skin and pull your dress up over your hips. She gasps, it's guttural and low, you take a small victory in that. Smirking and biting it away in case she finds a reason to be angry about that too, you wait for her to clear her throat and speak.

"Are those…"

"My wife's panties and suspenders? You know now that you mention it… I think they are." you tease her. She runs fingers beneath the lace rim on the suspender belt you commandeered from her side of the closet this morning, appraising you, choking on you, dying for it. "Do you think she'll mind?"

"Nope. I think she's good. Now these?" she pulls back the material of your panties and allows the elastic to snap around your ass. "You can ruin these." she growls.

"You don't think my wife will ask questions?" you tease.

"God, I hope she does." Clarke yanks your hair back and breathes the husky words in your ear. "I'm sure hearing all about you bent over my knee would definitely pique her interest."

You close your eyes and feel her warm your bottom with hands that slip under the material of the underwear and gently ease them away from your skin.

"I'm sure your wife never put you down as a panties and suspenders kind of girl?" Clarke mused and brought down the first slap. You jolt, snapping forward and groaning, she's tentative though, rubs the skin and eases the sting until you're left with hot warmth dissipating through your ass.

"Mhm." you mumble incoherently.

She slaps you again, harder this time. It hurts. You hiss and throw your head back, clinging to the thigh your chest rests against.

"You speak when spoken to, understand?" she orders.

"Yes ma'am." you groan and wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth. Where did that just come from? You've never called her that before? Your entire body tenses but you feel her gloat in it.

"Call me that again." she slaps.

"Yes ma'am." you repeat yourself quietly, ashamed and slickening between your legs.

Another slap shudders you and you whimper in the white-hot sting of it.

You're certain you've never spanked her this hard, maybe you shouldn't have been so quick to mock your wife for all the boxercise classes she took, apparently this Jekyll & Hyde apparition of her you work with owns the acclimation of that upper-body strength training and is putting it to use on your beaten ass.

"Now, tell me, do you wear dirty things like this for your wife?" she snaps one of the suspenders against your thigh.

"No." you groan.

"Why not?"

"Because… I'm more of a boxers girl."

"Do you like wearing them?"

"I guess they're okay. Do you like-" you stop yourself. "Do you _think_ she would like me in them?" you play along again.

"Oh I'm sure she'd let you ruin her panties all day long if you wanted to." she cupped your pussy over the thin material of the lace and earned a short sharp gasp. "Now, back to business." two more slaps come down in quick succession.

"Oh jesus christ." you swell and heave for breath.

A hand wraps itself in the back of your hair and tugs until your neck arches backwards, you can just about see a glimpse of her eyes, she's alive and burning in a way you haven't seen before. "Do you like being taken over my knee like a whore?"

You flash her a look.

"Sorry." she whispers and tempers a little smile, "Do you like being taken over my knee?" she corrects herself, knowing better than to dare calling you that word, bent over her knee in her panties and suspenders, or not.

"No ma'am." you lie and bit your lip.

Fingers slip beneath the lace panties that stick to your sex and bury inside your hot arousal. "Are you lying to me?" Clarke breathes and nibbles your earlobe.

"Yes." you concede and gasp as her fingers run around the rim of your opening, occasionally _just_ slipping inside before pulling out again leaving you devastatingly empty.

"Yes what?" she accidentally slaps your inner-thigh and you let out a loud painful whimper that embarrassed you. Her body tenses on the sound of the noise that just came out of your mouth, tentatively, she rubs the spot she just brimmed pink. "Are you okay, baby?" she rubs the dimple beside your spine that your wife often stroked.

"Yes ma'am." you groan and the game is afoot again.

"Good." she smirks and sets back to work. "Now, my budgets. I want you to redact the salary cuts."

"Clarke I can't." you whimper and lightning strikes your ass cheek.

"Let's try that again. I want you to redact the salary cuts."

"Clarke I can't do that!" you try to withhold from her demands but two more slaps reign down and you feel the tingling heat completely devour your bottom. "You can keep Arlene part-time." you call out as she raises her hand again, begging.

"Nope. Let's try again." she slaps your bottom and god, it hurts.

"Fine!" you whimper as her hand pulls back. She stays there, hanging over you, waiting for you to say it. "You can keep Arlene. I'll redact the salary cuts in your department."

"And Arlene gets a pay rise."

"What? No!?"

The slap comes down and you arch backwards, moaning and digging divots into her thigh with your nails.

"You waste my time, I waste yours. Arlene gets a pay rise. Say it."

"Arlene's not getting a _fucking_ pay rise." you hiss.

Your ass is starting to burn, completely enveloped in heat and stinging warmth. She slaps you again, you rock forward this time, moaning and clinging to her in case your hips and knees give out, afraid you're about to collapse on her lap.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?" Clarke mused, rubbing her fingers over your covered vulva.

"You know I do." you gasp and complain.

She hums and your panties are pulled aside, cool air attacking the slick heat as you groan and prays she doesn't make you weaker. Two fingers slide all the way inside of you and you almost wail in relief of it. "You're _so_ wet, Lexa." she gasps.

You rock back on her fingers until her knuckles grind against your slick heat. Gasping and groaning and whimpering and dying and loving every second of it, she makes you wait, tapers you off and only allows you _just_ enough to slowly edge you towards your impending climax.

"Please make me cum." you beg, ashamed that she can so easily reduce you to this.

She draws her fingers from you and you try to follow her, try to prevent it, she pushes down on your shoulder blades and keeps you against her lap until you're empty again.

"Arlene gets a pay rise."

"No." you roll your eyes and grit your teeth.

She slams back inside with another finger and you lurch forward with a gasp. Finally, inevitably, your legs give out and your hips collapse over her lap, she doesn't let you go though, keeps you right there and rubs your bottom with one hand and destroys your life with the other.

"Arlene gets a pay rise."

"Okay." you agree mindlessly, desperate for an orgasm.

"Fifteen thousand dollars."

"Are you insane?!" you snap over your shoulder and she slams you again, rendering your mouth useless.

"Do you like me fucking you like this?" Clarke leans over and curls against your g-spot. You can't speak, your body won't let you, your hips are shaking with need against her but she expertly keeps you right on the edge.

"Yes." you finally whimper.

"Be a good girl and give me what I want… and I'll give you what you want."

"Ten thousand dollars." you sigh and relent.

She pauses and makes a disappointed noise. Then, you're devastatingly empty, she pulls herself out without warning and slips your panties back up your hips.

"Ten thousand dollars doesn't pay for the kind of orgasms I give." she sniffs at your proposal and pulls you up off her lap. You blink, this can't be real? Your orgasm sits coiled up in your stomach so close you can almost taste but she's smoothing down her blouse and climbing out of your office chair. "It was fun negotiating with you, Lexa." Clarke kisses your cheek and strides slowly towards the door.

"Fifteen thousand dollars." you growl.

She takes another step.

"Fine! Fine! Twenty!"

She takes another step, her hand is on the door handle now.

"Thirty thousand dollars!" you scream at her.

She grins at that and turns back.

"Thirty thousand dollars?" she raises a brow. "Bend over the desk."

You do as you're told and before you can blink she's behind you, shoving you down, stomach against the keyboard, cheek pressed to the cold mahogany. The panties are ripped down your body until they tangle up around your ankles and Clarke's hands slip the dress back up over your hips.

"Such a good girl." she purrs and slams inside of you.

There are literally tears in your eyes, you have never needed anything as badly as you need this orgasm. It scares you, suddenly aware that you could be made to submit this easily. The taste of desperation lingers in your mouth like crystal flecks of sugar and you can't help but whimper as she masters your body.

Dress pulled up around you, legs spread, she slams into you again and you push back to meet her knuckles.

"So wet for me." she praises you and leans over your body.

She slams you again, and again, and again, and again, it doesn't stop. Her fingers collide into your arousal and hit your g-spot. You want to scream, you want more of her, no, you _need_ more of her. Hands reaching behind yourself, you take a handful of shoulder and she takes the opportunity to push her hand into the slip of your black lace bra, nipple between her fingers.

"I love you." you whimper out as she fucks you like you're her property, and you absolutely are.

She pushes a third finger inside of you and lets her little finger run around your rim and that's what kicks you off the praecipe in the end. You feel yourself, gasping and needy, made to stretch around her relentless fingers whilst she takes you.

You can't breathe for it, it burns and aches and feels delicious and she fucks you as if she cares for none of it. Your hips snap forward and noises fall out of your mouth that you didn't know you were capable of making, she doesn't stop, you grind back into her body desperately and she's there to catch you.

"My dirty girl." she hums proudly in your ear and nips your lobe. "Who does she belong to?" Clarke draws it out of you, fingers unrelenting as you gasp and suffer the natural disaster that is your orgasm.

"You!" you nearly scream but she stifles the noise with a hand wrapped around your mouth and saves you the embarrassment of the office clerks downstairs hearing your escapades. You'll thank her for that later.

Eventually, her thrusting slows, you lurch forward and lie there completely broken and still; a sore and satisfied mess of a woman.

Her fingers slip out of you and you watch her circle the desk until she's in front of you. Slowly, she lifts her fingers to her mouth and sucks you off of them. Without a word, she spins and strides out of the office, leaving you there collapsed over the desk panting with your panties around your ankles.

Thirty thousand dollars well spent, you decide.

It takes you maybe twenty minutes to gather the liquid parts of yourself and solidify back into a physical state. Clothes come next, you slip your panties back up and fix the suspender belt. Dresses and stockings and heels were nice but definitely not your everyday wear, though you might make an exception more often now you know the bounty it earns.

You leave work early for once after the September issue is safely in the hands of the printers. Reserved and stoic, you don't make eye contact with any of the employees who sit beneath your office for fear they now know more about your proclivities than your wife did up until noon today.

You catch a glimpse of Clarke through her office as you head for the elevator. Glasses on her face, pen in her teeth, buried in a pile of paperwork and you wonder how she is possibly the same woman who earned thirty thousand dollars out of you with two fingers and sheer determination mere hours ago.

The pile of paperwork should have been a give away but she doesn't get home until late. You're stood in the kitchen when they key turns in the lock, glass of red wine in one hand and spatula in the other, failing miserably over a beef wellington.

"Hey pretty girl!" Clarke grins and kicks her heels off, dumping her bag down on the sofa. "What smells so good?"

"Don't lie, it doesn't suit you." you peck her on the mouth with a hum.

"Okay… it smells gross but we can fix it." she shrugs and pours a glass of wine. It takes a moment but eventually she turns around, eyes dancing over you, lips worked into her teeth. "How was your day?"

"Eh, nothing out of the ordinary." you close the distance between you both and slipped your arms along her waist.

"Are you wearing my dress?"

"Oh, you should see what else I'm wearing." you hum in her ear and nip on her collarbone. "How was your day?"

"Not bad actually. Arlene got a ten-thousand dollar pay rise, can you believe that?" she said, moving around the kitchen looking for herbs to save dinner with.

"Wait, ten-thousand dollars?" you lean back and raise your brow.

"Mhm," she smiled sweetly over her shoulder from the cupboard, "And get this. I have twenty-thousand dollars extra in my salary budget so I can finally hire that part-time assistant I kept bugging my stupid mean boss about."

You flex your jaw and she smirks at you, waiting for you to break face, waiting for you to say something, but you hold it. "How did you convince your boss to hand over thirty-thousand dollars, Clarke?"

"Want me to show you?"

"No." you gulp quickly, "I'm good."

She nods at that, doesn't break face either except for a small smirk. You were certain tonight would be the night she would say something, anything, just some tiny acknowledgement of the things you both got up to at work but it never came.

Well, almost.

It came with a yawn as she slid between the blankets for bed. Clarke inched closer to you the way she did every night and dutifully you got ready to roll over and hold her, but she stopped you tentatively, kept inching closer until it was you held close in the cove of her hips instead.

"Does it hurt?" she asks you, hand guiltily slipping over your bare bruised ass.

"No." you reassure her with a content sigh.

"I'll be more careful next time."


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Lexa In Charge.]

_[The next two chapters are in third person to reflect the shift in dynamic between Clarke and Lexa.]_

In the deepest depths of the marble apartment, they sleep blissfully behind a closed door that separates them from the hum of the city. Clarke wakes up first with a groan, hand creeping up over the sea of warm blankets and slapping around for the blaring alarm. And like every morning, she gets out of bed and can't bare to wake her naked wife just yet because, God. She is so beautiful.

Instead she lets Lexa sleep just a little longer, slipping on one of her wife's shirts that are always just a _bit_ too big whilst she toes around the bedroom looking for underwear. Breakfast is started during the small interim where the apartment is still cold and quiet before the rush of the morning sends them both darting in and out of the bathroom and closet, and then searching for paperwork and keys and cellphones. Clarke likes it when the morning is quiet and chilly, spends it acclimating to daylight and blinking away what is never quite-enough sleep.

By the time the bacon crisps the smell has Lexa's nose twitching and the blankets kicked off her legs.

"Morning sleepy," Clarke slips back into bed and pushes the plate beneath her wife's nose. "Got your favourite." she whispers with a little smile, perching beside her wife and fussing over the little unruly hairs that wisp off of her hairline.

"Mmmm." Lexa makes a long noise and presses a cheek into Clarke's palm. "Can we just stay in bed forever?" she opens her eyes and blinks, finally focusing on her wife.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Clarke chuckles and sighs, slipping her chin over the ridge of her collarbones. "Unproductive, but wonderful."

"Oh believe me I'd keep you busy." Lexa simmered quietly with a smirk and slipped her fingertips up the smooth skin of her belly. "All day. You'd be rushed off your feet." she felt small nipples pucker beneath her touch and earned a little groan.

"It's an important day." Clarke whined and dipped her head, gasping at the pinch of her nipples. "Please. Try and behave?"

"No promises." Lexa hummed and slugged a leg between her wife's thigh, pushing her backwards onto the tossed blankets. Their noses nearly touch, almost but not quite, Lexa kept her position and smirked. "You're beautiful like this, you know that right?"

"Like what?"

"Beneath me."

"Oh is that so?" Clarke raised a brow and tempered a smirk. "You're not bored of the view after last night?"

Lexa groaned at the memory of Clarke beneath her all night, thighs spread, gasping and whimpering and crying and moaning and begging for more whilst she buried the strap-on again and again until there wasn't a single orgasm left to rip from the pit of her gut.

"I could never get bored of that view." Lexa promised and slipped her hand along her wife's arm, goosebumps prickling in the wake of her touch. "I'll be thinking of you in my meeting today. The way you taste," she emphasised and slipped two fingers inside of Clarke's panties, "the way you feel on my fingers. How you moan. The mole inside your thigh. The face you make when I push a third finger inside..."

"Sounds like you'll be preoccupied." Clarke groans and closes her eyes, Lexa's fingers sweeping through the wetness trapped in her folds.

"For a little while at least."

"Only a little while?" she opens an eye and pouts.

"I have a problem. A Chief Financial Officer shaped problem." Lexa sighs and kisses her wife's temple with a little smirk. "She doesn't leave much room to think about… other things." Lexa whispers and pushes her fingers inside of her wife.

"Fuck baby!"

She watches Clarke's fingers grasp the sheets, her chest and spine rising into a curve. Lexa gloats and curls the bend of her fingers against her wall, letting the pressure build into a pulse against the spot deep within her wife that elicited the most desperate orgasms.

"Do you like the way that feels?" Lexa hummed knowingly, the pads of her fingers slowly twisting inside.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Clarke throws her head back with a whimper as Lexa hits the spot. "Yes, please, don't change anything."

"What do you think I should do with my… _problem_?"

"Put that bitch in her place." Clarke whimpers again, closing her eyes and grinding her hips down onto Lexa's knuckles. "Maybe she needs reminding once in awhile that you're the big boss."

"Maybe she does." Lexa smirks and removes her fingers, licking them clean. "You're right baby, it's an important day for both of us. Let's pick this up tonight."

Clarke is horrified and Lexa loves every second of it. Mouth agape, cheeks flushed and chest puffing, she lies there spread open with a dripping unsatiated need between her thighs. Suddenly, Lexa watches her simmer in the realisation that the game is already afoot. She'll have to pay for that thirty-grand in more ways than one and today would be a very _different_ kind of game indeed.

"You should get ready for work baby. Your boss hates it when you're late." Lexa reminds her with a smirk and climbs out of bed, already off to run a shower, leaving her high and dry.

 

—-

 

Lexa chews the end of her pen and stares blankly at the screen in a half-hearted attempt to make the monthly quota reports from the satellite officers abroad make some kind of sense. She doesn't try too hard, too preoccupied with a gleeful excitement for this wonderful day to reveal itself. She loved putting her foot down, loved doing it in small ways over wallpaper and furnishings, loved doing it in the bedroom, loved eliciting the pout that followed Clarke's wrangling after she finally gave in. Today would be wonderful indeed.

_"Miss Griffin, she's busy at the moment."_

_"I don't give a fuck if she's in a meeting or getting a colonic with Gwyneth Paltrow. Get out of my way, Anita."_

Lexa hears Clarke seethe violently outside and counts the angry clacks of her heels striding past her personal assistant towards the office door. Smirking and ready to go, she throws the pen aside and closes her laptop in preparation for Hurricane Clarke to hit.

The door swings open and Clarke storms in, eyes alight and teeth already biting into a snarl. She slams the door and the walls shake against the ferociousness of it.

"Just so you know — if I was getting a colonic with Gwyneth Paltrow that would be classed as a meeting too. You really rendered your whole speech verbose at that point."

"Screw. You." Clarke gags on her rage.

"Good morning, Miss Griffin. Take a seat." Lexa stands and gestures to an empty chair. Clarke stays rooted in her footing, hands curled into fists, nostrils flaring. "Or stand." she shrugs and sits back down.

"What the fuck, Lexa, is this?" Clarke seethes and holds up the change of contract found on her desk this morning, tossing it at Lexa after a moment.

Lexa looks, she doesn't need too, she's well aware of the document considering as she wrote it herself over the weekend. But nonetheless, she slips her reading glasses on and skim reads each paragraph until she reaches the one Clarke spilled her coffee into dark beige patches over.

"Ah, yes." Lexa nods once she reaches the terms outlining a change in salary. "Your pay is being reduced." she taps the paragraph with her finger.

"By thirty-thousand _fucking_ dollars?!"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't curse, Clarke. It's unbecoming of you." Lexa sighs.

"Oh, you're right, I'm sorry." Clarke nods and smiles, and for a moment, she looks as if she might soften. But quickly, almost too fast for Lexa to dodge out of the way, she throws the leather file folder at the wall, temper exploding once again as paper copies fluttered the room. "Thirty-cunting-shit-fucking-thousand dollars?!" she hisses.

Lexa changes tact and rises from her desk, stern-eyed and bird-mouthed, jaw working like two tectonic plates that struggled to keep back a natural disaster. Clarke stands there, puffing and off-set by the silence for a moment.

"Did you really think your little game would go unchecked?" Lexa raised a brow and exerted her dominance masterfully with the reserved somberness that unhinged Clarke the most. "Get on your knees and pick the papers up."

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think—"

"Shut your disgusting mouth and pick the papers up before I really give you a real reason to cry like a spoiled little girl." Lexa warned her slowly, walking around the desk towards Clarke's lofty blinking figure. "It must make you feel very… safe. Thinking me incapable of putting you back in your place. " Lexa muses quietly with a tilted head, "But you are so woefully wrong and I, Miss Griffin, think you need kicking down a peg or two."

Lexa held her ground and felt her wife's resolve melt. She watched it bit by bit, the way her eyes blinked and looked off to the wall. Hands wringing. Chest puffing. Nostrils flaring. Conquered and finally… pouting.

"Thirty-thousand dollars?" Clarke cleared her throat much more softly and looked up to meet Lexa's stern eyes. "It's unreasonable and you know that. I work hard—"

"I don't doubt how hard you work." Lexa assured with a small smirk, knowing gleefully how much Clarke hated being interrupted. "I think you misunderstood that the thirty-thousand dollars you strong-armed me out of wouldn't be recouped from somewhere else in the business."

"We're on a record-setting year!" Clarke snapped and immediately sweltered under the flared eyes and bite she earned from the natural disaster that was her wife. "We're on a record-setting year," Clarke softens her voice, "and my salary was negotiated down to the penny—"

"We're under audit which is why salary spending was froze this quarter." Lexa reminds her and taps her foot impatiently at this conversation. "You still earn well above industry standard and if you want to leave, well, the door is right there." Lexa smirks and looks at the battered door that has somehow survived her wife's unchecked temper so far.

Clarke stands there and briefly shakes her head, looking off to the ceiling, and then closing her eyes. Lexa watched her come face-to-face with the strange repulsive addiction of how good it felt to be challenged at work. She played indifferent at first, tensed her jaw and held her scowl as if she still held the cards, but Lexa saw the excited glimmer in her eyes and knew well that the game was afoot.

"I'm waiting for my answer, Clarke."

"I assume when the audits are completed we will re-negotiate my salary?" she swallows and concedes.

"Maybe."

"Okay."

"Okay?" she raises a brow.

"Mmhm." Clarke says quietly and looks to the floor.

Lexa steps closer, hands on hips and pulsating with her gust of dominance. "Good." she assures her with a smile. "Now, get on your knees and pick up the papers. I think it's high-time me and you had a little chat."

Clarke reluctantly does as she's told and gets on her hands and knees, gathering and stacking copies neatly as she did.

She felt Lexa watching, felt the excitement and glee in her eyes as she obeyed her instructions and tidied the floor. Clarke shuddered the entire time, mouth chewing, hating this and relaxing into the excitement of it in equal parts. She never submitted at work, she compartmentalised her marriage and life and personality and made herself an unconquerable bitch, because that was what it took to do the job.

"You missed a sheet." Lexa muses and stands over her.

Clarke hesitates, growing aroused by this little powerplay. It was unnerving at first. Completely unexpected and off-setting, it was bizarre how this had never happened before. At home, Lexa wore the pants and Clarke never really challenged her, she enjoyed not making all the decisions. But at work Clarke was an entirely different person. She told Lexa just as much too after the fourth time she begged her to join the magazine. After the sixth and seventh time Clarke finally agreed under the caveat that they never brought their marriage into work.

But sometimes on the most frustrating of days, quietly, privately, she missed this side of their personal life.

Lexa bends down and Clarke doesn't look up. Instead she trains her focus on the carpet beneath her hands whilst her boss finally settles inches from her ear, hot breath warming her neck, entirely in control.

"I told my wife about the little games you play."

"All of the games?" Clarke swallows her smirk.

"No, that would just be poor taste." Lexa chuckles and smooths her hand along the ridges of Clarke's spine. "But I told her what a… problem. You can be sometimes."

"What did she say?"

"She said I should put that bitch in her place." Lexa's hand tails off the bottom of her spine and snaps back, punctuating her answer with a strike to her bottom, earning a small whimper.

"I'm sure she probably didn't have this in mind." Clarke winces and grits her teeth in a fight against her own arousal, both thankful and infuriated with her own stupid mouth. "What would your wife think if she knew I was on my knees for you?" she tilts her head, peering at Lexa and appraising the prideful little grin in the corners of her mouth.

"I think she would think," Lexa guides her fingers beneath her chin and keeps their eyes locked, pulling her hand back once again behind her bottom. "That I was very," slap, "very," slap, "very," slap, "upset with you."

The strikes are hard and loud but the material of her dress softens them into dull aching hotness over her skin. Clarke moans, closes her eyes and bites her mouth, her deep arousal from this morning awakened abruptly.

"It seems like you've done this before."

"You're not the only woman in my life who likes to earn a reckoning once in awhile."

Clarke releases her bottom lip from her teeth and sits up on her knees, face to face with this fractal of her wife she only enjoyed at home. Lexa was broader for it, her shoulders were set and her chin was raised and she was in charge.

"What am I going to have to do to make it up to you, Mrs Woods?" Clarke slips her hand along the inside of her wife's tailored thigh and inside the rim of her suit jacket.

"Uh uh, certainly not that." Lexa chuckles and throws the hands away. "I want you to pull your panties down your ankles and bend over my desk like a slut." she whispers.

Clarke chokes on the infliction of the words and blinks pulsing, aroused, repulsed and so violently turned on by one word in particular. "Like a what?" she clears her throat.

There's a small sharp pain where Lexa takes a handful of hair from the back of her head and pulls her closer until their mouths _nearly_ meet. "I said... drop your panties and bend over my desk like the dirty little slut you are." she growls.

Clarke whimpers and does as she's told, kicking her black panties off of her stockinged legs until they're low enough to step out of and leave on the floor as a reminder of who was in charge today. She caught a glimpse of her wife as she leaned over the cold surface of the desk, she was grinning and blushing like a teenage boy and it took everything not to roll her eyes and smile.

"You want me like this?" Clarke whispers and peers over her shoulder as Lexa sneaks around and desperately tempers a smile. "Then take me like this." she dares her.

"Take you?" Lexa brushes her mouth against the back of her neck and renders Clarke inert like sulfur reverted to carbon. "How could I possibly take something that's already mine?" she slams her fingers inside her hot dripping wetness without warning.

Clarke's back arches off of the desk and Lexa shoves her back down, forearm pressed into the center of her spinal column keeping her still against the glass-top, fingers curling against the spot that made her whimper and squirm in her own carnal excitement.

"Is this okay?" Lexa mutters softly, kissing the side of her hung open mouth as her fingers scissor slowly inside of the hot walls of her slickness.

"God, Baby, yes." Clarke breaks character too with a long whimper and pants against the desk, cunt dripping for more.

"Why are you so wet?" Lexa demands and slips her fingers in and out with no resistence to illustrate her point. "So desperate. Does Mrs Griffin not take care of you at home?"

"This morning she didn't." Clarke mumbles. Lexa slams her fingers back in and grazes her fingertips along the rim of her cervix and Clarke sobbed in satiation at the deepness. "That feels so good." she whispers and spreads her legs wider.

"Who's in charge?"

Clarke doesn't answer. Unable to go so far as to relinquish her last bit of control.

"I said," she slaps the back of her hind, "Who is in charge?"

Clarke twists on the words, not wanting to concede that much.

"If I have to repeat myself again…" Lexa tells her with a hollow absence in her voice. It makes the hair along Clarke's skin stand on end.

"You're in charge." Clarke pouted and released a little moan as her clit was rewarded with a circling thumb.

"Good girl." Lexa hums and works her clitoris expertly with the pad of her thumb. "Do you like getting fucked over my desk?" she breathes in her ear and slips another finger inside, feeling her wife stretch deliciously to accommodate it.

Clarke nods and gasps, barely clinging to reality.

"Do you want to cum?"

"Mhmm."

Lexa withdraws and slams back in again hard enough to make her body shudder with the velocity of it. "You're close baby." Lexa warns her with a little smirk, dipping her nose into the neat blonde up-do she'd destroyed. "Beg me for it."

"Lexa… please…"

"Louder."

Clarke snaps her head around at that, well aware the assistant was sat outside mere feet away. "What if they hear?" she mutters through her tiny gasps as Lexa pulses the curve of her fingers against her g-spot.

"Fucking let them." Lexa growls, alight with her own arousal. "Beg me." she brings her hand down twice against each side of her bottom.

"Please!" she lets out the wanton little plea and buries herself harder into the surface of the desk, pressing on her tippy-toes to gain more friction against her g-spot. "Please Lexa! Please! Let me cum!" she groans.

Lexa speeds up, her fingers delving inside again and again, twisting and curling and pulsing and scissoring until Clarke can hear colours and taste sound. She feels herself drip down her wife's wrist, feels herself start to come undone, and then it's snatched away from her just as she takes her first bite.

Lexa slips out of her vagina and she nearly collapses into the devastation of her emptiness, writhing and pressing into the desk waiting for her to come back.

She almost sobs, settling into the realisation of Lexa's denial, but then she hears her rooting around in one of her drawers and holds out hope.

"Ah! There it is." she listens to Lexa sigh and close the drawer, bringing whatever it is she found back around the desk with her. "My, my. Someone's looking a little tense." she teases and bends over her wife's shape, hips pressing into her bottom whilst she nipped at her soft lily-white neck.

"Lexa, please," she mumbles and grinds backwards into her hips. "I need to cum."

Before she can finish her sentence Lexa pushes the mysterious item inside of her folds, it's cold and metal, her body accepts two circular balls inside of her slick desire. She wants to complain, wants to pout and tell Lexa just what she thinks but every time she moves so much as an inch she feels the balls slip and pull further inside of her deliciously, keeping her _just_ on the edge of her arousal perilously.

"Lex…" she mumbles and feels them shift inside of her.

"I think you should be on your best behaviour today." Lexa pats her bottom gently. "It suits you being a good girl every once in awhile."

 _Yep, it suits you being a bad girl too_. Clarke thinks the words but says nothing, languishing beneath her acceptance of what today would have in store. It would be her turn soon enough, she would get to wield the power once again, but she relaxed into these things and let her wife have her fun.

Suddenly, the ben-wa balls in her slickness began to vibrate. And Lexa's fun became her downfall. Once again Clarke was spread out over the desk with her thighs spread, goosebumps terrorizing her skin as the toy in her cunt rendered her unable to function. She rocked backwards into the emptiness of the air, whimpering and blushing and groaning and clutching the desk whilst her wife stood barely a metre behind watching these things transpire with the remote in hand.

She could almost taste her orgasm, felt it build right in her gut and spreaded her legs wider for it. Gasping and groaning, the vibrations ceased and she almost collapsed.

"What the fuck?!" she seethed and groaned with clenched teeth.

"They're staying in all day." Lexa tells her and rubs her back softly, bringing her back down again. "Now, put your panties on and tidy yourself up. I expect you in the meeting today."

Clarke snaps around, "You're kidding me—"

Lexa waves the remote as a threat, reminding her of the torment she can inflict. "Is there a problem Clarke?"

"No, Mrs Woods. No problem." Clarke quickly changes her tone and forces a smile.

"Good girl. You can leave now." Lexa brushes her aside with a small peck to the cheek and busies herself with something entirely unimportant. Clarke stands there speechless, folds flushed, pussy aching, dying for sweet relief. Slowly she steps around the desk towards where her panties sit on the floor.

"In fact, just take them with you." Lexa looks over her shoulder and smiles. "I can't wait for the meeting Clarke. I'm really interested to see your presentation."

"Me too." Clarke blushes and balls her panties in her hand.

"Oh, Clarke…"

"Yes?"

"I think you're forgetting something." Lexa reminds her as she reaches the door.

Clarke pauses, staring at the way her wife smiles sweetly at her. It could rapidly change again, she could be on her belly taking all kinds of delicious retribution. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. But nonetheless, there was no honor in a power-play for a fight she'd already conceded, and so she gave Lexa what she wanted.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs Woods." she blushes on the words and quickly leaves the room.

She shuts the door and stands there for a moment, back pressed into the wood, eyes closed and panties tight in her fist. The wood is cool against the chiffon material of her dress and so she stays there for a second, acclimating to the shifting toys in her still slick hotness and the frustration in her belly at being denied her just reward.

"Are you okay Miss Griffin? It sounded like you were pretty angry in there." a voice asks sheepishly.

Clarke opens one eye, burning in embarrassment. Back to business it is.

"Shut up Anita." she grouches and storms off back towards her office.

She grabs the wall and finds herself doubled over before she can get to the end of the hallway, the dim whirring sound of vibrations almost loud enough for the entire world to hear. She squeezes her thighs together and clenches her eyes closed, telepathically begging for mercy. The vibrations stop and she exhales the breath she was holding.

Clarke straightened her dress and glanced over her shoulder. Lexa was stood by the glass wall of her office with the blinds open, arms crossed and smirking at her wife with the remote in her hand, daring her to make another sniping comment.

Clarke stands a little straighter and rights herself, gracefully walking back down the corridor entirely at Lexa's mercy.

 


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Lexa In Charge.]

**(1 Unread) Outlook Inbox:**

Clarke,

Peregrine.

Best wishes,

Lexa Woods | _Chief Executive Officer_

 _Wood Publishing Group,_  
_1 Clarendon Plaza,_  
_New York, NY_  
10021  
_United States_

Clarke blinked in disbelief, fixated on that single word, her safe word, on the screen. It meant this was really happening, she didn't just imagine the reckoning in Lexa's office or the shifting sex-toy inside of herself and for a moment she didn't know what to do with the knowledge — the roles had now changed and until she uttered that word she was at her wife _or rather her boss’s_ mercy. 

Swallowing and forcing absolute calmness over her resolve, she deleted the email and pulled her presentation back up on the screen, putting the finishing touches on the quarterly numbers with her lips between her teeth the entire time. It was hard to focus on the task at hand but Clarke wouldn’t relinquish control enough to render her unable to perform her job, she took pride in just how good she was at her work, and she took pride in the thought of Lexa knowing the intoxicating hold she held over her orgasms wasn’t enough to break Clarke Griffin, finance extraordinaire. If anything, it was this alone that made her fingers itch and type faster, and forced the numbers in her head to work over-time until the presentation was completed and colour-coded ahead of the hour.

“Can I get you a coffee, Miss Griffin?” one of the interns scuttled into her office.

“Please, black with three sugars.” Clarke hummed and kept her stare on the screen before it occurred to her that the closest coffee machine was in sight of Lexa’s office window. “In fact,” she looked up and caught the intern in her stare as he moved to leave her office. “I’ll get my own coffee. I could do with stretching my legs.” she smiled sweetly, wondering how far she could stretch Lexa’s patience whilst she was at it.

The walk towards her office was slow and drawn out, purposefully, so that the odds of Lexa seeing how little effect she caused were increased with every step. It was a tiny power play in itself, a small way for Clarke to claw back her power and show her wife just how strong her resolve was and maybe, also, see how far she was willing to take this little game. She got all the way to steaming milk dribbling from the faucet into her mug before the game was afoot, and Lexa’s office door creaked open.

“Don’t you have flying monkeys to do that for you?” the simpering voice of her boss chirped over her shoulder.

“Can you believe it? I actually have the interns doing work on the accounts. It’s almost as if I’m teaching them.”

“What’s the lesson for today?”

Clarke turned over her shoulder, eyeing her boss up and down. “For them, or for you?”

“For me?” Lexa curiously smirked. “If I remember correctly — it’s me who holds the chalk.” 

Lexa clicked a button on the remote in her pocket and all of a sudden Clarke found herself clenching her eyes and trying to steady herself. Repulsed and violently turned on, Clarke waited for someone to peer over at them with eyes that knew exactly what game they were playing. It didn’t come though. Instead, the world carried on turning, forgetting about the pair of them whilst they stood at the coffee machine testing each other’s limits.

“I’m waiting, Clarke.” Lexa pressed her for a response with those gloatingly pleased green eyes.

“The lesson for you, _Mrs Woods,_ ” she steadied her breath forcefully, doing her best impression of a woman who didn’t have a sex toy destroying her entire life nestled inside of her pussy. “Is not to buy the keys to a Subaru if you don’t know how to drive stick.” she sweetly smiled.

“Oh… I get it.” she rolled her eyes and nodded. “You’re doing the thing you do.”

“What thing?” Clarke said to defensively.

“That thing you do when you’re not in control but you don’t want to admit that you are hopelessly,” Lexa stepped forward, “terrifyingly,” she stepped again, “turned on when it’s me who puts you in your place.” there was another click to the remote and the vibrations in her tightest cove of muscle became faster.

“Jesus Fuck!” Clarke steadied herself against the table and burned red in embarrassment. The arousal was immediate, almost painful in how sudden it attacked her. She breathed and waited for it to subside, but the arousal refused, it clung and rendered her inert against her strongest determinations and all Clarke could do was bite her teeth and force her knees not to tremble — blushing beneath the piqued interest of her boss.

She caught sight of Ted from Resourcing as he moved past them down the hallway towards his meeting, throwing a strange glance at them both as he did. “Hi Ted!” Clarke squeaked and forced a throttled laugh out of her throat. “Coffee machine burned me.” she blurted and pointed at her perfectly fine hand.

“Looks like you’re talking to the right person to get that replaced!” he chuckled and gave them a little wave, walking away into the distance.

“Haha! So right Ted!” Clarke pretended to laugh and smile, playfully shoving their boss’s shoulder. 

Lexa tried not to laugh, biting the inside of her cheeks and pinching the back of her hand in an effort to contain it all. She had to close her eyes in the end, looking at her pretending to be okay was too hard.

“You fucking asshole.” Clarke snapped quietly, “I would _never_ do this to you.”

“You would.” Lexa told her earnestly and turned the vibrator off, allowing her to catch her breath. “You’re just pissed off you didn’t think of it first.”

“You won’t break me.”

“I wouldn’t want to. Now, I think it’s time for you to go back to work.”

“Lex-”

“Mrs Woods will do fine.” she smiled curtly and promptly walked away. 

Clarke watched her all the way back to her office, waiting for her to turn around or throw her a little look, but it never came. She breathed a sigh of relief, or maybe regret, her entire body was sensitive and aroused and beneath her determination to be as formidable as she always is at work — Clarke loved every second of this game.

###

In the executive meeting room, the important one, reserved for the biggest and most eye-wateringly boring business. Lexa sat and twiddled with her pen, chewing her lip to hide her smirk whilst Clarke stood at the opposite end — commanding an air of order over herself and playing the perfect role whilst their subordinates filed in for the briefing.

Their eyes met over the chaos of it, and Clarke begged her, silently, all wide blue eyes and rising chin, not to make this _too_ unbearable. Lexa just smirked that tantalizing smirk, fiddling with something in her pocket that made the hair on the back of Clarke's neck rise to attention in anticipation.

It was repulsive how turned on she was, and though she tried to deny it, even to herself, the knowledge that she was at her boss’s mercy made it unbearable. She persevered though, kept herself upright and aware of her surroundings, desperate to ignore the ben-wa balls shifting around in her tight wetness.

She made it three slides into the presentation before her plan went to ruins.

“...as you’ll be able to see from the March- _shit!_ ” she quietly gasped and steadied herself against the table. “Sorry!” she blushed and tried to ignore the way her tightest cove of muscle ached around the highest setting of vibrations. “Stubbed my toe.” she forced a smile and barely clung on to herself.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Lexa raised a brow across the table.

“Dandy.”

She powers through the presentation, skips over the particularly boring stuff which is so completely unlike her, but, she allowed herself that tiny wiggle room considering the circumstances. It’s Ted in the corner that grates on her last nerve, raising his hand every few seconds to ask _another_ pointless question.

“Clarke,” he pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose, and all she could do was claw at her throat and pretend it was an itch whilst Lexa grinned and loved every second of this particular kind of torture. “What is going on with the numbers from Hong Kong? I’m hearing all kinds of things that we’re outsourcing jobs from the Asia-Pacific and these numbers just aren’t reflecting-”

“How about we pick that up after the meeting, Ted?” she managed a thin veneer of civility and hid her gritted teeth well.

“Looking forward to it already!” he smiled until his pudgy cheeks were up to his eyes.

“Me too,” Clarke forced a small chuckle and begged whatever god was out there not to let her buckle and cum in her underwear in front of Ted from resourcing and marketing Patty. As if Lexa can read her mind, she gives her a brief respite and turns the vibrations off completely, and what repulses Clarke the most is how much she immediately misses the sensation. That’s just how much the lack of orgasms have thinned her resolve.

The meeting lasts longer than anticipated, and every time she tries to cut it short or skip over the unimportant — Lexa is there to drag it out; asking questions more enthusiastically than she’s ever shown an interest in the quantitative side of the business before, sending pulses through her body the entire time. Literally. Breathing heavy, squeezing her thighs, Clarke swallowed and hid her blushing cheeks behind the laptop screen at the foot of the meeting table.

“I think that covers everything.” Clarke’s voice trembled.

“No.” Lexa sat a little stauncher and smiled with those pale green eyes. “I have some questions about the agenda, I mean, if it can even be called that.” she flicked through the two pages of A4 and Clarke cringed, suddenly aware that she forgot to finish the departmental actions for the next month.

“Are they urgent?” Clarke huffed and bit her mouth.

She watched the room out of the corner of her eye. Saw the people that lined the table between her and Lexa look at one another strangely, aware that something, undetectable as it felt, was out of place. It embarrassed her even more. She felt herself tightening around the balls nestled inside of her cunt and promised herself that as delicious as this torture was, it would never happen again. It couldn’t. This was too much home brought into the office, too much of their personal life for these four walls, and delicious as it was, the office was her safe place. It was the one place she could be as tough and nasty as she needed to be and the world would be just fine with that.

“Clarke are you listening?” Lexa scolded her, and the mere act had her blushing, turning her eyes to her shoes.

“Sorry.” she cleared her throat. “What did you say?”

“I said they’re incredibly urgent and your lack of agenda for the next meeting has me concerned. I’d expect somebody with your attention to detail and… thoroughness,” her brows piqued, “to have prepared some actions for everyone?”

“There’s only a few select pressing actions I can think of.” Clarke stared ahead and pleaded with her eyes to make this game stop now.

Lexa smirked. She smirked and it was enough to ruin her entire life on the corners of those perfect lips that would be put to such better uses between her thighs.

“You can all go.” Lexa dismissed the room. “Clarke and I will go over the fine detail, and I will have her email you all if there’s anything important.”

A shudder ran down her spine at how demeaning this was, how unimportant and small she felt, how wilting it was to have her boss, her wife, the lines completely blurred today, being the one in control. She watched the room file out in an orderly line and leaned back on her court heels. It would be over soon, she told herself that again and again, she’d be allowed her release and, god, it would be so delicious.

“Please…” she whispered and breathed a gasp as Lexa finished waving off the last intern from public relations, closing and locking the door as she did. “Lexa-”

“No.” Lexa cut her off and closed the blinds. “Be a good girl and hold it for me.”

Clarke does as she’s told and forces herself to ignore the urge to squeeze her thighs and allow her body to fall off the edge of an orgasm. Lexa took her time walking down the room, she drew it out and made the distance last, and Clarke wanted nothing more than to be home right now, straddled over her wife’s lap with eight inches buried inside of her slick heat.

There’s tears in her eyes by the time Lexa and her perfume are close enough to smell, big fat dewy ones that have waited _all day_ for the release of an orgasm.

“It’s okay, you’re alright.” Lexa pushed forward and pressed a kiss to her jaw, her fingers slipping around the small of her back. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” she promised and drew her close.

Clarke nodded, burying her nose into the stiff collar of Lexa’s shirt that she pressed this morning. She was delicious like this, dominant and brooding and torturously in-control, like a beautiful catastrophe looming over her with the brunt of its power.

“But,” Lexa hesitated and Clarke clenched her eyes closed because there _always_ had to be a but. “I can’t just have you not doing your job properly… an unfinished agenda?” she wagged her finger and tutted. “I know my big bad chief of finance knows better than that, doesn’t she?”

“Yes ma’am.” Clarke conceded reluctantly and hung her head.

“Get on your knees.” Clarke flashed her a look and hesitated, it was rare she even did that at home. “Do you trust me, baby?” Lexa softened quietly and a slither of her wife shone through, and it was enough to have her nodding like a fool on the end of her words. “Good girl, now, get on your knees for your boss.”

She kneels on the itchy grey carpet, certain her joints will be red and scuffed when she stands up again. It’s low down on her list of priorities though, the pulsing toy in her cunt shifts further inside as she sits on the back of her knees and it’s enough to make her groan and slouch in need.

“I’ll do better next time,” Clarke ached on the words, “Just, please, let me cum?”

“Soon.” Lexa cups her jaw and smirks over her like a predator eyeing its dinner. “What’s different about what I’m wearing, Clarke?”

At that she puzzles for a moment, blinking and looking her boss up and down. Suddenly, it clicks. “Are you wearing my fucking skirt again?” she broke character and muttered with narrowed eyes.

“It’s my wife’s,” Lexa softly pushed a leg forward and rested a red slingback on the top of Clarke’s kneeling thigh. “Put your hands up my skirt and tell me what’s missing, Clarke?” she echoed the same words from when it was her turn to kneel in this meeting room.

With a lick of her dry lips, Clarke slipped hands up her bare thighs, gliding over her smooth tan skin and closing her eyes. Her fingers followed the curves of her legs, swallowing and dying and loving every inch of her wife’s tight body.

“You’re not wearing panties.” Clarke conceded with a tiny ghost of a smile.

“I don’t need to tell you what to do, do I?”

Without any further encouragement Clarke set to work, pulling her boss close and hiking a skirt that definitely didn’t belong to her up her hips. She was too eager, absolutely dying for the carnal, for the taste of her wife, for something that wasn’t the aching need between her own thighs. Lexa groaned and Clarke smirked, determined that in some tiny way, she would own her like this and take her revenge — make her knees buckle and her eyebrows do that thing they do when she _needs_ to cum.

“You’re going to do what I say, and take everything I give you. You’re going to kneel right here between my thighs and be grateful, am I understood?” Lexa moaned and closed her eyes.

“Yes ma’am.” Clarke whispered into her folds and watched her head hang back like elastic.

She buries herself inside of her wife’s folds, licking and sucking on her clit with her hands gently pushing either side of her thigh to stop herself getting crushed between them. Lexa trembled for her, soft thighs and hips quaking on her tongue, and it only turned her on more having her wife ride and flex on her face like this in the good meeting room for serious business.

“Cum in my mouth.” Clarke instinctively ordered with a gnash. The pull on her hair was a quick reminder on who was in charge this time, forcing her to come undone at her wife’s vulva and peer up at her smouldering eyes — chin glistening and lipstick smeared. “Cum in my mouth… please?” she whispered and submitted.

“Good girl.” Lexa moaned as she went back to work, leaning against the surface of the table and grinding as messy and urgently as she could into a hungry open mouth. “You want me to cum in your mouth?” her voice caught in her throat as her heat was invaded with two fingers.

“God, please.” Clarke murmured into her heat and earned that rare smirk.

Lexa finishes fast and hard, it’s a quick orgasm that leaves her hips bucking and her teeth dug into her lip as the beautiful heavenly creature kneeling at her thighs gently laps her clean and softly sucks on her labia and clitoris, earning a shiver each time.

“Such a naughty girl.” Lexa tisked and chuckled, catching her breath and slowly putting herself back together again. It was a difficult task, especially with Clarke practically purring and kissing her knee caps, sighing with disappointment as they were put away beneath the pencil skirt — shirt tucked in once more. “Do you do this for your wife?” Lexa raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Clarke played dumb.

“Kneel like a slut between her thighs?” she raised a brow, and her voice was that low raspy husk that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Come here, now.” she guided Clarke up from her knees, there was a wet spot on the carpet where she had knelt and it took everything not to bend her over the desk right then and there, rip the toy right out of her to replace it with something much more substantial and human.

“I’m much dirtier for my wife.” Clarke still clung on to enough of herself to tease, and for it, she was rewarded with the messy kind of kiss Lexa reserved for when they were in bed getting ready to cum together. Clarke kissed her back, hung off of her shoulders and tried desperately to press her core into a retreating thigh.

“Ah ah,” Lexa slapped her ass and raised her finger, “I know what you want baby. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Please?” Clarke closed her eyes and pleaded.

Lexa dragged her mouth over her ear, sending shivers down the spine with the heat of her breath. “What would your wife do if she knew kneeling between my thighs made your cunt drip?” she said it so elegantly, that word, until it was no longer the most offensive word in the English language but rather a compliment of sorts.

“She’d be so mad…”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa slipped her hand underneath her wife’s skirt and pulled her by the back of her arm until she was stood between her thighs, “Would this make her mad?” her palm roughly cupped her pussy and slid the ruined underwear aside. “What would she do if she knew you let another woman get your little cunt this soaked?” the question was punctuated with a slap to her vulva.

“Jesus Christ-”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Lexa raised a knowing eyebrow and wickedly grinned.

“She’d punish me,” Clarke closed her eyes and smirked. “she’d make me too sore to come back to work, to you, the next morning.”

Lexa tugs on the ben-wa balls as hard as she can, and somehow, it isn’t enough to free them in one fast fluid movement like she wanted to. Instead hot tight walls cling on to the last ball and Clarke cries out and slips forward bonelessly, arms wrapping around Lexa’s shoulders to stop herself collapsing at how rough and delicious it felt.

“Such a fucking greedy girl for me.” Lexa purred in approval and gave another hard tug, finally freeing her of the toy. “Do you think I should let you cum?” she stared into watery blue eyes as she empty cove of muscle was replaced with two fingers.

“Please, I can’t take it anymore,” Clarke groaned and felt her wife’s free hand slip inside the buttons of her blouse, rooting through her bra until her breast was simultaneously kneaded, and her nipple rubbed and twisted, in rhythm with the strokes against her g-spot. “Please.” Clarke gasped and grinded against warm knuckles, “I’ll be such a good girl.” she finally caved and gave the last bit of her resistance to her wife.

“You’re going to get me back for this bad, aren’t you?” Lexa chuckled and looked forward to it.

“You have no fucking idea.” Clarke choked and rested her head in the nook of her neck. “Please make me cum, please…”

She twists their positions in one fluid motion and puts Clarke on her back over the board table. “I can’t send you home to your wife all wet and messy like this, can I?” she smiled and pushed the skirt up her hips until it sat like loose material around her belly. Clarke writhed, her body trembling and her hips widening to make room for anything and everything Lexa was willing to give her.

Between her thighs, her legs pulled back and held either side of her, Lexa gave her three fingers, pushing and pulling and scissoring them in and out until she sobbed and bucked. A tongue was added, then lips, softly kissing and pulling at her most sensitive tortured skin. It was the fourth finger that ruined her, the little words of encouragement, the dirty promises that she would be so exhausted, her cunt dripping and ruined, by the time she was done that her wife would know all about the dirty things her boss did to her.

Lexa pushes her black panties inside of her mouth as she cums, gagging her helplessly loud sobs as best she can, stroking her gently and kissing every bit of available skin whilst she rides out the contractions and the shuddering and the stiffening of every limb. She cums the way a sports car revs it’s engine, tyremarks skidding the gravel, no time between now and where she needs to be.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Lexa hummed and clambered on top of her collapsed wife. “I’ve gotchya.”

Gasping and exhausted, Clarke laid collapsed in the wake of her orgasm. “I’m gonna get you back.” she rasped.

“Oh yeah?”

“Enjoy it while it lasts because you’re gonna regret this.” she chuckled and tried to catch her breath.

“Doubt it."

 

_[If you enjoy this story you can check out more[HERE](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com) along with exclusive content!]_


	5. Chapter V

You find yourself lingering in the office, tapping the keys and writing emails that can wait until tomorrow. Filing paperwork your secretary is more than capable of handling. It’s the ordering your cabinets that really does it, that really drives home just how desperate you are for some kind of backlash.

It had been a fortnight since the boardroom, and on your worst nights you wondered whether the satisfaction of taking Clarke like a slut in the office, in her safest holiest space, was worth the consequence of being frozen out of the game. She was fine at home, so was your sex life too, in fact that was more than fine by any stretch of the imagination.

But work? That was a different story altogether. Your advances were rebutted, your dirty emails unreturned, your attempts to elicit her famous temper unsuccessful. You were lucky to get more than a sharp yes or no during the business hours of the day, lucky indeed.

But sure enough when you logged on this morning, the email was there in your inbox. An electronic diary request for an out-of-hours meeting tonight, long after the rest of the team had gone home.

Two minutes to the appointment, you feel yourself gulp.

One minute, and your stomach is somersaulting.

But then 6pm comes right on the nose, and god, if there is one thing you love about Clarke it’s her timekeeping. Two knocks come against the wood at the precise strike of the hour and you feel them inside your chest.

“Come in.”

Suddenly she is there, but it’s different. There’s no wicked smirk or furious glint in her eye, absolutely nothing to pre-warn that the beginning of the game is in motion.

“Thank you for seeing me out of normal business hours,” she takes her seat and smoothes down her skirt. “I appreciate you’re probably busy, Mrs Woods.”

“Oh, never too busy for you Mrs Griffin.”

She smiles at the compliment, but again it’s different. There isn’t that familiar burn in her cheeks or the rise of her chest. Instead she just smiles curtly. “I’ve booked this appointment to advise you I've sought other employment and I’ll be serving my notice period with immediate effect.”

Wait, what?

She didn’t.

Did she just?

You fail at hiding your shock, and all you can do is lick your lips and stutter between the charade you play at work and the furious indignation of being her wife.

“What the hell are you talking about Clarke?” you snap, because being her wife is so much easier than being her boss.

“Verve Music Management.” she told you bluntly and leaned back in the chair. “It’s time to move on, and they’re offering me a hell of a lot more than the thirty thousand dollars I was cut, and a personal assistant too. They’re even opening up a position for Arlene.”

“Fuck off, you’re taking Arlene?!” you glare.

“We have to move where opportunity takes us, you should know that better than anyone.”

“That’s what this is about?” you raise an infuriated brow, “Money?”

“No, Lexa. It’s not about the fucking money.” she spat and caught alight like hot oil, “It’s about you overstepping the boundaries and bringing our marriage into work!”

“Oh come on!” you throw your head backwards. “Are we talking as a couple right now or as employee and employer?”

“I don’t know!” she barked back, equally confused.

“Well as your boss, I’m sad to see you go.” you glare and breathe, barely glancing at the notice letter pushed in front of your nose. “And as your wife? You’re sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m your wife, Clarke! You don’t just change your job without giving me a heads up!”

“You’re not just my wife though, are you?”

“Beyond this stupid game we play I never treat you like an employee, you know that. You could have talked to me if you wanted to hash out the contract or tell me you were uncomfortable with something I did. That’s on you for not telling me so I could fix it!”

“There’s rules, my rules that you swore to abide after the seventh time begging me to join the firm. No marriage stuff at work and this,” she wags her finger between you both over the desk. “Is marriage stuff.”

“Clarke,” you exasperate with rubbing fingers over each temple. “From a business perspective… I can’t lose you, you’re the best. You’re better than best.” you say carefully, absolutely resolute not to make this ‘marriage stuff.’

“Your argument would be much more convincing if you weren’t looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve looked at me every day this week, like I’m your wife. What we had before worked when we were in the office. You were my boss, and at home you were my wife, and it worked.”

“And then I fucked it up?”

“All I'm saying is that we had an agreement, and then you played dirty. A thirty thousand dollar salary cut?!” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“So it is about money!”

“It's about playing dirty.”

“Oh! You want to talk about playing dirty? Let's talk about playing dirty shall we!”

“Fucking lets!” Clarke barks back.

“You told me that thirty thousand dollars was a pay rise for Arlene, which, by the way, is fucking stupid and I never should have let you have it, but then you lied anyway!”

“Do you know how much money I have saved you and how much I've increased productivity and revenue? And still you held out over what I asked for. I could ask you for a dozen Arlenes with a thirty grand bonus for all of them and the company would still be better off than it was a year ago!”

“If I had known,” you pinch your brow and sigh. “If I knew how important a personal assistant and a bonus for Arlene really was to you, I would have given them to you. I just thought it was a little power game…”

“It was, but then you cut my salary by thirty thousand dollars-”

“We own a business that has a net-worth of half a billion and you want to get your panties in a bunch over thirty thousand fucking dollars?”

“You got your panties in a bunch over it first!”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“You don’t get it, do you?!” she barked and brought her hands down on the mahogany, “You have a net-worth of half a billion. I have a net-worth defined by my work ethic. I married you, not a number at the bottom of a balance sheet, and I have never asked or taken more than what I have earned!”

Huffing and annoyed, you sit back in your seat and watch her stew over this. The reckoning was a long time coming, then again, all couples who work together face it at some point. The dreaded intersect between marriage and work, and while you can’t be sure if this is over the thirty thousand dollars or the orgasm you held over her head like a guillotine for several hours last week, you’re certain that there isn’t an easy fix for it. You changed the game and reversed the roles.

“This is good,” you finally sigh and nod. “We’re finally getting our shit off on the table and letting it breathe.”

“Shit doesn’t breathe, it just stinks.”

“As my wife, I love you more than words, you know that right?”

“As my wife, you’re the queen of my entire universe.” Clarke sighed and looked at you softly, and you breathe a little easier. “But as my boss you can be a real cunt.”

“Babydoll, likewise.”

“Don’t you think it would be easier if I was at another firm? We would say goodbye in the morning on the way to work and actually mean it.” she couldn’t help but laugh.

You chuckle too.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “But I’ll never find a head of finance as talented as you.”

“You mean you'll never find a head of finance who bends you over the desk and-”

“Okay, alright.” you cut her off with a smirk. “Is it wrong that my favourite part of the work day is finding excuses to pass your office window?” you sigh sorely and feel the ache in your belly that she’s completely right, maybe things would be easier if you put the game to bed.

“I know, but if marriage is anything to go by you’ll have me for the rest of your life.”

“My life? What's to say you won't die first?”

“Your penchant for high-stress and the cigarette habit you’ve pretended for the last four years to have dropped is pretty telling.”

At that you hang your head and open the draw on the side of your desk, pulling out a menthol from the packet and an ashtray. “If we’re being completely honest about it, do you mind if I light up?”

“I won’t tell your wife.” she smirks.

You fiddle with the lighter and breathe in a long burn, it tastes of tobacco and mint, and you watch Clarke wave her hands in the air to dodge the smoke like Tippi Hedren from The Birds. It makes you laugh a small cloud of smog.

“When is your last day?” you puff and leave it in the ashtray.

“You originally asked for the contract to stipulate ‘until Hell freezes over,’ but I think we settled on a month’s notice.”

“Reasonable enough.” you shrug, “And the game?” the question comes hesitantly, tinged with hope that it won’t be entirely over.

“Well… I’m not planning on taking a new workplace mistress if that’s what you’re worried about.” Clarke grins and leans back in her chair, “Maybe I’ll just ask my wife, very nicely, to make Thursday and Sunday game night. I have a feeling for all her bravado she might be inclined to let me have my wicked way with her from time to time...”

“I think Thursdays will be more than enough, for your wife I mean.” you draw another burn of the cigarette.

“Mrs Woods,” she throws you a small look. “If I was to do a little spring cleaning… where might I find my wife’s smoke stash.”

“Well Mrs Woods,” you grin on the sound of her real name. “You would have to ask your wife that question, but, I’m sure the loose tile in the guest bathroom is hiding a secret or two.”

“The guest bathroom Lexa, really?! Our nieces stay in that bedroom!”

“Your wife’s problem, not mine.”

“I’m still here for another month, I could still take you over my knee.”

You stand suddenly, rubbing out the end of your cigarette as you walk around the desk to face her. Slowly, precisely, you lean against the surface and lazily push your leg out towards her until your foot lands between her thighs, right over the material of her skirt.

Like an engine revved back to life, you see the glint in her eye, the burn in her cheeks, the small swallow in her throat. “If I were you, I’d get your frustrations out now… because you’re definitely sleeping on the sofa when your wife finds out you quit your job without telling her.”


	6. Chapter XI

_[There will be an epilogue and perhaps a sequel to this story but for now, thank you for coming on the rollercoaster!]_

 

“Mind if I join you?” You close the refrigerator and tentatively stare at the empty space at the table like a child on their first day of school. 

The kitchen at work doubles as the break room, but you rarely venture down here if only because when you do there’s always an intern shoving a screen in your face trying to cram a pitch for financial collateral for his amazing new start-up that definitely isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen before.

It’s always stuff you’ve seen before, barely repackaged and still as incredibly dull as the first twenty times you saw it. You tell them as much too. It’s hardly the most relaxing way to spend the fifteen minutes a day you grant yourself for lunch and non-business related business.

Clarke smirked and put down her sandwich, “You see this Arlene? One of the big bosses from upstairs wants to eat with us peasants today…”

“Leave Lesley alone.” Arlene clears her throat with a cough and summons you over. “Come on Lesley, come and sit down.” She patted the vacant chair.

“It’s Lexa, actually.” You clear your throat but accept the invitation nonetheless and saddle up opposite them with your salad. “Don’t worry though, it’s not as if you’ve worked here for my family for sixty years or anything.” You throw Clarke an exasperated look.

“Oh I’m sorry Louisa, my hearing isn’t what it used to be Dear.” Arlene chuckled and stirred her midday coffee, which you’re absolutely certain is two thirds whiskey from the smell that attacks your nostrils.

“So, what are you gal pals up to today? Busy day in Hell?” You smirk at Clarke and her geriatric best friend.

“Well,” Arlene spoke up first and tucked her white hair behind the ear. “Clarke and I were just talking about her lovely husband Dear, Clarke you tell Louisa what he did for you this weekend! She won’t believe it!” Arlene grew excited and clapped her hands.

“No, I don’t think Louisa will believe it.” Your jaw suddenly tenses.

Clarke finished swallowing her food and hesitated, half smiling and half aware of how much trouble she was in. She’s told people she has a husband? It completely flabberfucks you. A husband?! You feel like ruining her fun right here and now, letting Arlene know just exactly who you are… well if she could retain the information for more than five minutes of course.

“My partner Lexa took me to Harry Winston and bought me an eternity ring for our wedding anniversary.” Clarke extended her perfectly manicured hand, showing you the teardrop diamond surrounded by exotic white sapphire that you purchased this weekend with her. You smile at the way she says it, suddenly aware that she wasn’t ashamed at all. Clarke has a way of always being demure and proud in the same sentence, and though she always seemed to use the word partner instead of wife when she spoke to old people, you could let that much go. It had less to do with caring about their opinions and more to do with saving you the trouble of listening to them.

“Lexa. Such a funny name for a man, isn’t it Louisa? He must be Russian.” Arlene chuckled to herself and shook her head. “He must be a real rich asshole to afford a diamond that big too, you won’t convince me he isn’t compensating for SPS.” She laughed and pointed a finger at the huge ring.

“SPS?” You raise a brow and chew your salad.

“Small Penis Syndrome.” Arlene nodded and took a sip of her coffee, “My first and second husbands were both sufferers, but who is a girl to complain when she’s got the very best of everything?”

“Certainly not me.” Clarke chuckled too and wiggled her ring.

“Well I suppose you don’t have to worry about that do you Louisa…” Arlene glanced and sighed, sipping at her coffee. “You see Clarke, Louisa is one of these… what word is it you and your friend use again? There’s just so many these days!” She laughed and waited for a reply.

“Married. That’s what me and my special friend call it, marriage.” You say with a touch of disapproval, and you realise when you see Clarke biting her laughter that nobody in the history of mankind has ever ate a salad quite as aggressively as you are right now.

“Of course Dear, quite right too. You see Clarke I’m just one of those people who can sense it. I think they call it gaydar… or is it Grindr Louise? Either way, that’s what I have.” Arlene said quite seriously.

“Lene you don’t have Grindr. I promise you.” Clarke’s voice began to wobble as she held back the need to cry with laughter.

“Do you think there will be lesbians when we go to Verve Management at the end of the month?” Arlene asked curiously.

“There better not be.” You accidentally snap the plastic spork.

 

—

 

In the quiet of the late afternoon, feigning an attempt at work, you finally sit back and rub the back of your neck with closed eyes. There’s a rhythm to the day that was disturbed the moment Arlene opened her mouth, and yes, okay, yes, she’s old and she doesn’t mean half the things she says… but the idea of her thinking for a single moment that Clarke is straight quietly infuriates you.

It’s one thing keeping your personal lives private, it’s one thing not telling people you’re married, but something about the thought of Clarke not breaking face and telling her about the pair of you sits funny in your stomach.

There’s a knock to the door that pulls you out of your frustrating thoughts.

“Yes?” You shout.

Clarke walks in with a manilla envelope in hand that belongs in the mailing room, she holds it against the bottom of the waist. There’s a strange look in her face, pensive and playful at the same time.

“I was just on my way to the post room and I wanted to stop in and see how you were?”

“Fine.” You bite uncomfortably and lean back. “How is your husband?”

“In a KGB black-site for the foreseeable future.” Clarke wittily smirked, enjoying every moment of your exasperation. “It’s a good job my wife didn’t hear Arlene say those things… I bet she’d be very upset if she did. I never told Arlene I was straight or married to a man… she just assumed that for herself, but I’m sure it would be upsetting to listen to all the same.”

“Upset is the wrong word, maybe she would just feel as if there’s an underlying reason as to why you haven’t outright corrected Arlene that you’re gayer than Kristen Stewart driving a Subaru to an Indigo Girls concert.” You say mirthlessly with a raised brow, turning back to the dim computer screen.

“That is very gay.” Clarke concedes with a little laugh and you watch her close the blinds out of the corner of your eye, the door is next, she locks it before striding over to sit in front of your desk. “You see me and my wife have this arrangement… it’s complicated. I won’t get into it with you. But the meat and bones of it is that we’re very private, and I would hate for her to confuse that want for privacy as shame or embarrassment on my part. I’m not ashamed in the slightest.”

“It’s a good job she wasn’t there then, isn’t it?” You concede and exhale. You’re willing to let this go, if only because Clarke only has another week here and then the entire thing will be a non-issue. It won’t matter who knows once you don’t work together anymore.

“I’m going to miss you when I leave, you know that right?” Clarke smirked and leaned back.

“Miss me?” You feign shock and lean back too, and suddenly the game is in motion. You can feel it like electricity than runs up your spine, tingling and vibrating your entire nerve system. “And why would you miss me when your wife buys you jewellery like that?” You point at her ring with your pen.

“My wife spoils me, that much is true.” Clarke grinned. “Speaking of which I like that bracelet you’re wearing.” She nodded to the diamonds that slipped out of your dress sleeve.

“I’m not much of a ring kind of girl, it was a gift this weekend for our anniversary.”

“How coincidental.” Clarke smirked. “She has excellent taste.”

“Exquisite.” You whisper and stare with smouldering eyes.

“But, I will miss these little games we play Mrs Woods nonetheless… for all the jewellery in the world there are still some things my wife won’t do.” Clarke tisked.

“And what might those things be?” You raise a curious eyebrow.

“Put her pride away for starters.” Clarke moves the manilla envelope from her lap and your eyes grow wider in surprise. 

Her dress tents between her thighs with an erection, with the shape of the strap on you used on her this weekend. She asked if she could use it on you, and though you were curious, you held face and refused, fully aware that it was a pride thing above all else. In your bedroom, in your home, with your wife, you are the top. You call the shots. You do the fucking.

But in this room, she is the master of your body.

“Okay well that was quite the reveal.” You blurt in surprise, aware that you’re blushing a violent colour of red.

“If you don’t want to… that’s entirely your prerogative… but it would please me if you came over here right now and let me fuck you the way I wanted to fuck my stubborn wife this weekend.” Clarke stared like a woman with ingrained purpose, wantful and smouldering. You feel yourself grow wet at the sight of it.

You stand on nervous legs and watch her eyes brighten with unreserved excitement, and there is something safe about doing it in this room. This is your territory, your safe place, the room in which you hold power. She is intoxicating, irrefusable, two people stretched to their limits fighting for control over one body.

“I had a feeling you were hiding something under the envelope.” You ping the underwear you slipped off earlier in her direction. She doesn’t catch them with her teeth which disappoints you just a tiny bit. Instead they rocket through the air and hit her face like a weapon of mass seduction. You laugh when she rolls her eyes in exasperation and tosses them, she then pulls you by the wrist within the territory of her person space and the laughter stops, forgone for a burning silence that is the natural habitat of those long smouldering stares she loves to throw at you.

You are made to straddle her lap. In fact, no, made is the wrong word. She pulls you close to her and leans up for your collarbones, kissing and nipping them with equal languid pleasure while her fingers run around the back of your pencil skirt. It’s you who straddles her entirely of your own volition, and you do it with the grace and poise of a woman who has done this before.

You can’t pinpoint where that confidence comes from. It’s as if you’ve borrowed some of Clarke’s. It’s as if that smouldering smirk enrapture you entirely. It emboldens you. Entrances you. Whispers dirty little promises of what she’s going to do, and, how much you’re going to enjoy it.

“Not as impossible as you like to pretend, are you?” She whispers and leans forward, hands slipping around the bottom of your spine.

“Oh yeah?” You push her back into the chair with a hand around her throat. “Want me to put those panties back on and show you how impossible I can be Miss Griffin?” You dare to growl in her ear.

“Relax, I won’t tell on you.” Clarke chuckled against your manicured hold around her throat. You release her, and in turn she leans up and kisses you like it’s a conquest and you are the prize.

“Tell on me?” You grin and cup her cheeks, sitting back on her lap while your thighs press against her hips. “What is there to tell?”

“That my tightly-wound impossible girl fantasises about getting fucked like this from time to time… it’s a pleasure to indulge you. Really.” She rips your blouse open. The thin material of your bralette is nothing against her. It suffers beneath the wantful wrath of her teeth and succumbs quickly — and you find yourself in the flustered race too, unable to rip it off of your body quickly enough.

Like a computer unplugged at the mains, you wobble and feign the moment her teeth latch against your nipple. You sag forward bonelessly into her, there’s a strangled whimper, a suffering noise, an audible need for more, and it takes you a moment to realise it’s your lips that sound has fallen from. Her fingers dig into your spine, they crawl underneath your ripped open blouse and up your back until you’re shivering. She pulls you further into her mouth, your breasts the playground she busies herself with for now.

By the time your eyes find her bit lip as she pulls away and leaves you high and dry for more, she’s speaking again. “So beautiful like this, do you know that? Your wife doesn’t know what she’s missing out on…”

“You don’t deserve me like this. Unlike my wife, you’re leaving me remember?” You moan and chuckle, her teeth grazing over a stiffened nipple lazily once again while the strap on moves through your wetness.

“Something tells me it won’t be the end of our games. Just a new beginning, you love beginnings remember?” Your wife echoes through the facade of the game and it leaves you grinning too.

“Is that so?”

“I’m convinced that’s why we broke up so much when we first started dating. You loved winning me back, and I was a sucker for falling in love with you.” She mumbles away and nips you back into a state of helpless whimpers.

“Maybe I just like all the different iterations of us.”

“Delicious as this conversation is… do you mind if we get back into it and save it for home? I want to enjoy my boss while she’s still my boss.”

“I am always your boss.” You lean in with a moment of lucidity and grab her by the jaw, staring at her for just a moment with a twinkle in your green eyes. “Don’t you ever forget it Miss Griffin.”

Her canted hips thrust completely inside of you as if it’s a response, an exclamation mark, a reminder that maybe you’re not as in-charge and final as you like to think you are. You gasp and cling to her, adjusting and stalled like a caught doe. The world is silent, intangible and beyond your reach, you cling on with fingers purchased in those pale shoulders and try to clamber out of the state she has trapped you in. You feel those soft slim fingers dance over the tensing tangle of muscle between your shoulder blades, it’s then you realise she’s speaking.

“I’m a big fan of this iteration of us. I think I might find a way to hold on to it a while longer yet.” Clarke croons the promise into your skin like the sear of a hot brand.

You gasp and remain still, and she is careful, she doesn’t thrust mindlessly, she touches you the same way sunlight touches wild lilies in the morning: gently. Her fingertips graze and her lips softly kiss until they find the crook of your breasts, she remains there, perfectly satisfied to give you all the time in the world to adjust.

“Jesus Christ, a little warning next time?” You finally speak, blinking and grounded in her soft touch.

“So there’s a next time?” She raises her brow.

You roll your eyes and wind your fingers into her tighter, “Not if you keep touching me like I’m dying of incurable cancer.” You scold the imposition of her gentleness with a snarky smirk.

Suddenly, you are airborne and the split second from Clarke’s lap to the lip of your desk is spent entirely unsure on how it is your wife who needs help opening the pickle jar is carrying you on her hips to that final destination. There isn’t time to ponder the matter, your thighs are pushed back the second your spine hits the mahogany and she fits herself in between each one with a long slow thrust.

“Did you just…?” You blink and gasp as she works her strap on inside of you.

“I’ve been working out, call it a preemptive attack.” She growls and slaps your ass with a thundering sting, and god does it hurt in all the right ways. “You know sometimes you keep your mouth closed for just long enough that I forget what a naughty girl you can be.” She pulls you with a hand around each hip into the rhythm of her thrusts.

There’s something more vulnerable about this, lying on your back with your thighs spread open and her thrusts landing deep inside of you. It makes you feel smaller and more submissive than the things she’s done before, even the spankings, and it’s all the more delicious because of that. You lie there and moan, entirely unconcerned with seeming in control anymore.

“That’s it pretty girl, let go.” Her crooning voice guides you while her hips work and thrust.

One hand remains around your hip while the other wanders, your eyes jolt wide open with surprise when her grasp finds your breast — squeezing and rubbing, wandering between one and the other, enjoying every inch of you while she somehow manages to hit that deep spot inside of you again and again.

“Clarke I can’t—” you gasp and feel your body move back and forth beneath the weight of each thrust, “I can’t hold on.” You panic urgently, as if there’s something wrong with that.

“You can’t or you won’t?” She murmurs indifferently and shoots you a look, circling her hips until every single inch becomes imperative to your looming orgasm.

“What do I do?” You say it dumbly, blushing and unsure and suddenly self-aware. 

You haven’t done this before, at least not on the receiving end. You’ve never been made to come like this and it feels completely different than the other things you enjoy. When she’s going down on you or using her fingers, the orgasm comes from somewhere else, somewhere fast and urgent. This is impending torture, a build up, an invisible force slowly twisting you out.

She looks down and smirks at you first, biting her lip and loving every moment of your uncertainty. It softens eventually into pity, briefly at least. “Turn around.” She pulls out and leaves you devastatingly empty. You roll over and lay out flat, your cheek pressed against the desk and her hips suddenly thrusting back inside of you until they press against your ass. “You’re gonna lie there and take everything I give you, and love every moment of it, and when you’re ready to come just let go and let me enjoy you…”

She fucks you like she hates you, it’s violent and full of a beautiful lack of reserve. Her hands are around your shoulders, her hips canting and working deeper inside of your cunt. There’s this noise that fills the room, a long strangled throttled kind of sob, it’s the same sought of sound you earn when you do this to your wife. For the second time this afternoon, you realise the sound falls from your own helpless mouth.

“Such a good girl for me, you’re such a good girl.” Her words catch you alight and you feel so impossibly small and wanted by this impossible creature behind you. 

The sound of her hips slapping your ass reign like claps of thunder, your strangled whimpers the strike of lightening. You feel your stomach begin to do the thing, that tight urgent feeling that’s warns of the start of an orgasm, today you feel it everywhere, from the tips of your toes, your fingers, your tongue, your cunt, your nipples, behind your eyes, and back again.

There’s no time to let her know you’re on the brink, her fingers slip around your thigh and circle your clit with wild abandon. Your hips shudder like a controlled demolition, your body imploding, your teeth clenching, your sobs ringing out like battle cries.

“That’s it.” She growls and thrusts in deeper and deeper, “Go wherever it takes you.”

You reach out behind yourself blindly and grab her hand, pulling and pulling until she takes the hint and lies across your back, nipping and breathing against your ear like a burning tempest while her hips take you like you’re a thing that belongs to her and only her.

There is nothing but clarity and blinding white. You are stuck and free, simultaneously, and you feel the heat of her pants in your ear and know that she is loving every moment of this victory. Your body shakes, still. It moves like a tide, like a force of nature, something you are incapable of controlling, and so you don’t. Instead you let it take you.

By the time you are aware of yourself, you feel Clarke slump backwards into the leather guest chair and her hands hook around your belly and take you with her. You are a rag doll, a spent woman that has had the air knocked out of your lungs. The quivering of your empty cunt continues, the soft waves lapping up your body while you gasp for breath and sink backwards into her reassuring warmth. You pull your knees up and she holds you.

“You were perfect.” She purrs and her slim arms engulf you entirely. “So beautiful and perfect.”

There’s a tinge of embarrassment that enraptures you as reality greets your exhausted senses. It’s strange, because you shouldn’t be embarrassed at all. She is your wife, the person you want to spend your entire life with, and still you sink into her arms and can’t help but feel exposed and unveiled.

“Don’t do that, don’t you dare baby.” Her nose drags through your dark hair and settles with an exhale that makes the flyaways dance.

“How do you do that? Know what I’m thinking?” Your voice is a croaking chuckle.

“I’ve fallen in love with you half a dozen times and never met a version who wasn’t impossibly stubborn.” She tells you bluntly and you chuckle all the more. “You were so perfect. I loved this.”

“Me too.” You sigh and melt into the way she softly strokes your skin.

“The game had to end with a bang, didn’t it? It was fun while it lasted Mrs Woods.” She chuckles this time. “Would it be so terrible if you swallowed your pride once in awhile and let me wear the trousers like this at home? Just every now and then?”

“Iterations. It feels like this is a new one?” You look up with a soft sloping smile.

“You always did love new beginnings.”

“You’re my favourite one, Miss Griffin.” You lean up and kiss her.

 

 

[If you enjoy this story check out updates ahead of the curve along with exclusive works right HERE.](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


End file.
